


Dance Me Through The Panic.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Series: Permets-Tu [7]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern, Anal Fingering, Awkward Conversations, Bad Sex, Bed Sex, Bottoming While Being The Penetrator, D/s, Depression, Dominance, Dominant!Enjolras, Finger Fucking, Kink, Kink Negotiation, Leonard Cohen Lyrics, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic/Anxiety Issues, Safewording, Scene Gone Wrong, Song Lyric Title, Submission, Submissive!Grantaire, The Delicious Cookies Of Awkward Sex Discussions, Topping While Being Penetrated, limits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I still think I'm right and you're wrong," Grantaire says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Me Through The Panic.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Dance Me To The End Of Love by Leonard Cohen.

Grantaire is aware of how much of Enjolras's presence in his life can be summed up as 'force of nature', so the first thing he does when he walks into Enjolras's apartment is shove the bag with his contribution to Les Amis's school supplies drive at him, tell him to take care of it, and then he heads into the bedroom, already shedding his clothes. He's going to lose all semblance of control once Enjolras looks at him, so might as well get it all out at once, he thinks.

By the time Enjolras pokes his head into the bedroom, Grantaire is naked on his bed. He's not sure how to arrange himself, but, fuck it, Enjolras can decide that, too, so he just flops down on his back.

"Impatient," Enjolras comments. It's studiedly bland and non-judgmental. Grantaire grins at him. "I wonder if I should rethink the incentives here. A hello would be nice."

"You promised you'd fuck me," Grantaire says. "Get on that, sir." He points to his ass. "Please? Time's a-wasting."

" _Really_ rethinking the incentives," Enjolras says. He sits down on the bed and offers Grantaire his hand. Grantaire immediately starts sucking on his fingers. Mmmm. Enjolras feels around the inside of Grantaire's mouth, examining him for reasons he'll probably explain if Grantaire decides to ask, which he doesn't. For all he knows, Enjolras is measuring him up for a ball gag and far be it from Grantaire to deter him from that. "So spoiled."

Grantaire just smirks, because if he's spoiled, he's looking right at the one doing the spoiling.

Then Enjolras takes his hand away, which is always a tragedy. It's like he actually wants Grantaire to talk to him. "Change of plans," Enjolras announces. "It's my turn to get spoiled. C'mon, up, I'm putting you to work."

"Work?" Grantaire asks suspiciously, sitting up. 

"Mmhmm." Enjolras pulls his shirt off over his head. "I'm suddenly feeling a bit exhausted, Grantaire. Be a good boy and finger fuck me."

If Grantaire were holding anything right now, he'd drop it in shock. "I--"

"Don't make me repeat myself," Enjolras says. His jeans and boxers follow his shirt onto the floor. "You know where the lube is. And if you're feeling empty, you know where the plugs are, too."

Grantaire just stares at him as Enjolras makes himself comfortable. Enjolras even fluffs the pillow before resting his head down on it. And meanwhile, Grantaire's just trying to process what just happened.

So.

Okay.

Right.

Well then.

He's not getting fucked this afternoon. Instead, he's going to relax Enjolras? Spoil him? Make him feel good? Whatever, he's supposed to finger fuck him. Dear fucking god, Enjolras, did he really just throw that out there without warning? Yes, he did. He really just did. Grantaire could be mad, maybe. Maybe. He might be able to bring himself to be angry. Except Enjolras just ordered him to finger fuck him. He's got other priorities right now.

And if he's feeling empty? Grantaire frowns down at Enjolras, who has apparently gotten bored with Grantaire's nervous freak out and is reading a book. With his legs spread. Naked. The bastard probably isn't even hard.

Grantaire would look, but he really has other priorities right now.

Okay. First and foremost, lube. No, wait, first and foremost, he needs to go wash his hands, holy fuck, he's going to be putting his fingers inside Enjolras. That is a holy experience and needs to be respected, not defiled. Times like this are what viciously scrubbing your hands were made for. Maybe he should put some gloves on, too? No, no, terrible idea. If Enjolras wanted him to do that, he'd've said so. 

Unless Enjolras wants him to use his initiative.

...Does Enjolras want him to use his initiative?

Fuck, Enjolras is a terrible person. Grantaire hesitates and looks towards the door. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up," he says. Enjolras waves at him from where he is apparently really engrossed in Twilight of the Elites. Grantaire isn't sure if he should weep or keep freaking out.

Freaking out wins.

He scrubs his hands really good, like thirty seconds worth of lather good. And then does it again. And then looks through the bathroom until he finds a nail clipper and stares at it helplessly until he decides that, actually, Enjolras is the kind of caring, loving, overly controlling dominant who would order him to cut his nails if he thought it necessary. So, since Enjolras didn't tell him to, QED, it is not necessary.

Then Grantaire clips them anyway.

And then washes his hands again.

Halfway through, Grantaire remembers that Enjolras helpfully suggested he use one of the plugs, and he'll totally have to wash his hands again after doing that, if he does that. Which he should do. Because Grantaire isn't going to disappoint. Well, okay, he's going to do everything he can not to disappoint, because this is some serious responsibility Enjolras is giving him. This is really important. He can't afford to fuck this up. If he does, Enjolras will totally realize that he can do better. Because of course Enjolras can do better. He's smart and gorgeous and surprisingly good in bed, except for how it's not surprising at all, because Enjolras is nothing if not a perfectionist overachiever.

A perfectionist overachiever who ordered Grantaire to finger fuck him, and what's Grantaire doing? Panicking in the bathroom. 

Oh, this is bad. This is really bad.

Breathe.

Grantaire breathes for a few minutes and then washes his hands again. Then he takes his fate into his hands and goes back to the bedroom. Enjolras, damn him, is still reading.

"I'm waiting," Enjolras mentions off-handedly and turns the page.

Grantaire gets the lube out of the drawer and manages not to drop it, which is a major achievement and he is very proud. Enjolras should be proud, too, except, shit, Enjolras still isn't looking at him.

Well, fuck that. Fuck that and fuck him. Grantaire is going to _make him_ look at him. Grantaire will blow his metaphorical socks off. He will rock his world so hard that Enjolras can't do anything but pay attention to him.

So, that's that. That's a goal. Good. It's good to have goals. Now he can work to achieve it. With K-Y and his fingers. It'll be great.

And, yeah, he'd probably feel better if he had a plug, because it would help take his mind off of things. But on the bad side, it would put his mind on the wrong kinds of things. Having a plug would make Grantaire think too much about getting fucked, and Enjolras changed the plans, so Grantaire's not getting fucked now. Now he's serving Enjolras like this, and that's important. That's so important. He can't afford to split his focus. He can't be thinking about himself when he should be thinking about pleasing Enjolras. That's not how this is supposed to go.

This is about service and making his dominant happy. And his dominant wants to be made happy with his submissive's fingers. It's not like Enjolras didn't warn (promise, threaten) him this would happen. Enjolras is making use of him. That's good. That's very good. It's fucking fantastic, that's how good this is. This is Enjolras getting what he wants and Grantaire wants to give it to him. Holy fuck, how much he wants to give it to him. He wants to open Enjolras up with his fingers, wants to make Enjolras feel everything Grantaire feels when he's on the bottom. And he wants to serve, loves to serve. This is both of those; this is entirely about Enjolras and his pleasure.

And Grantaire can do this.

Grantaire can totally do this.

Just as soon as he breathes a little bit more first.

Then he has the bottle open and he's slicking up his fingers carefully and, before he can think better of it, he presses his index finger against Enjolras's hole.

"There you are," Enjolras mutters, but he sounds happy, not censorious, so Grantaire takes that as a good sign.

"Have you, um, done this before?" Grantaire asks, not sure if he's allowed to. But if he's not, Enjolras will let him know. Enjolras is always very good at letting him know. Enjolras won't leave him hanging. Enjolras will always catch him.

"No," Enjolras says. He's still holding the goddamn book, but Grantaire hopes he isn't still reading. On the other hand, it's on Grantaire to make him stop, which he's going to do. 

Right now. He's going to do it right now.

So he presses his finger inside Enjolras slowly, grinning when Enjolras inhales sharply. That's more like it. That's much more like it. Grantaire's actually accomplishing something here. He curves his finger and Enjolras is so tight, so amazingly tight, and then Enjolras clenches down hard and Grantaire doesn't move. Barely even breathes until Enjolras exhales with one long breath and relaxes around his finger.

"Sorry," Enjolras says. "Please continue."

"No-- no problem," Grantaire says. Then he thinks: what would Enjolras do? Enjolras would wield the power of distraction to destroy any lingering nerves. "You're really hot and tight, you know, sir. Well, you'd know if you ever did this to yourself. You should, some time, but you don't have to. It's what I'm here for, making you feel good. Um, I hope it feels good." He frowns.

"It does," Enjolras tells him. "You have talented fingers."

"Thanks." Grantaire moves his finger back and forth gently, loosing Enjolras slowly, and then, when Enjolras does not tell him to stop, carefully takes his finger out and then pushes back in again. And Enjolras moans happily.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Grantaire keeps fucking Enjolras but abandons caution when Enjolras drops the book. Take that, books, Grantaire thinks gleefully. He works one finger in and out and in and out and in and out, and when it seems like Enjolras is getting bored again, pushes a second finger in, too. He bends them both, which Enjolras seems to love, and then Enjolras kicks him.

"Shit, sorry," Enjolras says. He's up on his elbows, twisted around to look at Grantaire, and he's been biting his lip. It's all red and tempting. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nope," Grantaire says and thrusts his fingers forward and twists them sharply, because apparently Enjolras is liking this enough to forget himself and that is amazing beyond Grantaire's ability to comprehend amazement. And Enjolras is laughing, Grantaire realizes. "What's so funny?" he asks.

"Just thinking," Enjolras says, and that's not good enough and Grantaire realizes he's in a position of power here. He could make a point. Somehow. He could fuck Enjolras harder or gentler or just pull his fingers out -- no, he can't do that, he was ordered to finger fuck Enjolras and that's what he's doing, he's not going to stop. But he could control the pace and the intensity. He could control _Enjolras_.

No. No, that's wrong. He can't control Enjolras at all. _Enjolras_ is the one in control. Enjolras is always the one in control. No matter what, Enjolras is on top. He's in control, he's in command, he's the one calling the shots. Grantaire is just obeying orders here. He is not controlling anything. He's doing what Enjolras is telling him to do. Enjolras is giving him a lot of freedom of interpretation, but that's all that is. Grantaire is not in any kind of control here.

There, that's better. That's much less scary. If he were in control here, he could hurt Enjolras. He could not use enough lube, or fuck him too quickly, or just really prove that he does not belong anywhere near a bed with Enjolras in it. But Enjolras is in control, so that's okay. Enjolras will make sure nothing goes wrong. Grantaire's does what he's told and that's the way he likes it. Enjolras points him in the right direction and tells him what to do and doesn't make him make _choices_. Because if you let Grantaire choose, he could choose wrong, and that would be bad. That would be disappointing Enjolras, and Grantaire is frankly really fucking tired of never living up to Enjolras's ideals. Enjolras thinks they can make the world a better place and meanwhile Grantaire is freaking out because his boyfriend told him to finger him and hasn't given him any additional orders since then. Grantaire could not be less of an ideal boyfriend for Enjolras if there were a goddamn contest to pick the worst boyfriend in the world.

Oh, fuck, this is not the fucking time for his stupid brain and the stupid shit it pulls on him. This crap is terrible. This crap needs to stop right the fuck now. He hates his brain. He hates his brain so fucking much.

Grantaire takes a deep breath and pulls his fingers out. Enjolras looks back at him, frowning.

"Can, um, can we time out and talk for a moment?" Grantaire asks.

Enjolras looks very concerned as he nods. "Of course." He should look absurd, lube dripping out of his ass and his General Enjolras Of The Revolution face on. But it's Enjolras, so he just looks like perfection. It's very discouraging for mere mortals, him looking like that. Grantaire's never going to be able to compete.

"I need," Grantaire starts, then stops. He wipes his hand off on his thigh angrily. "I need you to talk to me and tell me what to do." Enjolras nods at him encouragingly. "I'm scared I'm going to fuck this up or hurt you or fuck this up by hurting you. I know-- I know you-- making me work for it right now isn't doing good things to my head," he confesses. "I need your attention on me. To keep me in line. If I have to fight for your attention with anything else, I know I'll lose. So I don't want to do that. You ignoring me, I don't like that. I get that you might have a fantasy or something, like you want me to work for your attention, but I. I would rather not. Maybe sometime in the future, I'd be okay, but not now, not right now. If you're in bed with me, I want you in bed with me, not in a threesome with Uncle Sam and Rosie The Riveter."

"I understand," Enjolras says. He's smiling gently, but his eyes are worried. "Sounds like we hit one of your limits. Was it just not acknowledging you or was it also other things, like the act itself or me being hands-off and letting you take your time and control the situation?"

"You really want to write this down, don't you?" Grantaire asks. He can recognize Enjolras's urges by this point. "Yeah, okay, it was the control, too. Probably mostly the control, actually. I really don't want to have any control over you. I'm the submissive; that's not in my job description. Letting me do it on my own time... shit, I don't even know, Enjolras. Maybe?"

Enjolras nods again. "So it was the perfect storm of a bad scene for you?"

"It's not _bad_ ," Grantaire objects.

"R, you stopped it in the middle, that means something went wrong, and from what you're saying, all of it went wrong." Enjolras sighs. "This is my fault. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have changed plans on you last minute and we should have talked about this before. I fucked up, Grantaire, and I apologize."

"Fuck, Enjolras, this is not your fault, it's mine," Grantaire says. "I'm the one messed up in the head who can't take faked disinterest. I know, _I know_ , it's faked, I know that if you really weren't interested in being with me, you wouldn't be. I know you're not just fucking me out of some kind of lofty pity, poor Grantaire can't keep a boyfriend because he's so hung up on me, I should play games with his heart. I know you'd never do that. I know that. Shit, I can't explain this well."

"I think you're explaining it plenty well," Enjolras says. "For you, it's too close to me telling you I don't want you near me, right? It's one step away from rejection. It's making you feel like you have to work hard not to be rejected. Is that it? Like you've already been rejected and the hammer hasn't fallen yet, but it will and you don't know when? I should have realized. You didn't take one of the plugs; that was a huge warning sign. Christ, I feel like an idiot. I completely missed that. I'm so sorry."

"I didn't want to be distracted," Grantaire explains inadequately. "I shouldn't be thinking about me when I should be thinking about you."

Enjolras looks annoyed, but it clears quickly. "If I had done this differently. If I had put the plug in you myself, had held you and given you your orders, and then walked you through it. If I had done this scene properly. What would you have been thinking about?"

"Obeying you," Grantaire answers immediately. "Fuck, Enjolras, it's always about obeying you."

"Because there's no room for anything else, right?" Enjolras presses his fingers to the back of Grantaire's hand. "If I give you orders, all you have to do is what I want, not try to figure out what I want. You said you were scared you were going to fuck up. Does it make it less scary when you think I'm not giving you any slack in the rope?"

"There's no room to be scared," Grantaire says. "I don't have time to be scared when you've got me by the balls and start squeezing. There's only room for you." Fuck, he needs a drink. And there's no fucking way he's getting one. If Enjolras gets the impression he's driving Grantaire to drink... it'd be bad. It'd be really bad. Enjolras taking his frustrations out on innocent video game characters kind of bad, with Combeferre feeding him tea and brownies, and Courfeyrac cutting Grantaire's balls off with a rusty spoon. Not that Courfeyrac would do that; Grantaire really doubts Courfeyrac owns anything rusty.

As it is, this is going to be the most awkward meeting tonight ever. Enjolras will be all gentle with him, Grantaire can just tell. Because Grantaire is _breakable_ and fuck that, fuck that so much.

"Look, um, we tried something and it didn't work, it's not a big deal," Grantaire says. "Let's not making it a big deal, okay? Call it an anomaly and call it a day. Let's, yeah. Let's not talk this to death. Let's do something else."

And now Enjolras looks really worried, shit. "If you want," he says. "We'll have to discuss this, but it doesn't have to be this second."

Grantaire nods jerkily. "Yeah, great idea, let's do that." And then he grabs his clothes and goes into the bathroom and gets dressed and washes his hands and pees and washes his hands again and then he looks at himself in the mirror and tries to pretend he did not just fuck up yet again. Shit, he did. He really did. Enjolras asked him to do something and Grantaire couldn't do it. He fucking chickened out. Again.

Christ, Grantaire really is the worst boyfriend ever. The worst. He can't even stop himself from messing up _in bed_. Sex has always been fun, something he could do when he wanted. It's always been a great way to escape and now he just brought the world into his escape. He fucked up and that's not okay, that's not even close to being okay.

Enjolras knocks gently on the bathroom door. "Grantaire?"

Grantaire exhales. "Just a moment," he says. He wets his hands and then rubs his face quickly. He dries himself off and then opens the bathroom door.

Enjolras is standing there, fully dressed, his hands in his pockets. He reaches out and takes Grantaire by the arm. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

"You don't have to be gentle," Grantaire says. "It's not--"

Enjolras stops him with a look. "Are you hungry?" he repeats.

Grantaire shrugs. "Sure."

Enjolras leads him into the kitchen, where he has a bottle of apple juice and a box of chocolate chip cookies open and waiting. Grantaire hadn't been aware he'd been in the bathroom for that long. Shit. Enjolras sits him down and then takes the seat around the corner, his knee pressing against Grantaire's thigh.

"First and foremost," Enjolras says, "I need to apologize. I messed up."

Oh, such bullshit. "You did no such thing," Grantaire interrupts him. "You didn't do anything."

Enjolras takes a very angry bite out of the poor defenseless cookie. "Yes, that was the problem. I didn't give you time to prepare for the scene and then I didn't give you the feedback you needed. Worse, you came in expecting one thing and then I switched it completely on you without discussing it with you first. What I intended as giving you time and space to prepare ended up backfiring spectacularly; I should not have let you be alone between giving you your orders and you obeying them. I was hands-off when you needed me to be hands-on and I ignored you when you tried to give me feedback."

"I don't need my hand held," Grantaire says. "It was sex, it wasn't-- it's not climbing Mount Everest. For fuck's sake, Enjolras, it was fingering you, that's not complicated or hard or anything like that. It wasn't, it wasn't rope bondage or, or anything tricky. It's pretty basic stuff. It doesn't need lead time or anything like that. I mean, I finger myself all the goddamn time. _You know that_. This isn't a big deal. It's not on you. It's really not on you."

"It's on me that I didn't notice," Enjolras says. "I should have and I didn't. That's unacceptable behavior for a dominant."

"Oh my god, please stop being you for a minute," Grantaire begs. "Please. Enjolras, this is not a big deal. Honest. Promise. You don't have to, like, rethink your dominance or anything. It's really not a big deal. You didn't do anything wrong. Seriously. You wanted-- you out and told me you had a fantasy about making me work for your attention and did I object when you said it? No. No, I did not. Because I found it hot when you said it. And I told you I want to service you. There is nothing wrong with you deciding you want me to service you while you're doing other things." And, oh. Oh, shit. "Enjolras, please don't tell me that you're now taking whole swathes of things off the table. Please. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to. It's my fault." If Grantaire doesn't get to lick Enjolras's boots for him because of this, then Grantaire won't forgive himself. Shit shit shit.

"I'm responsible for you," Enjolras says. "Do you get it? You don't fuck up, _I_ fuck up. I gave you bad orders. I set up a bad scene. I set you up to fail. I didn't mean to, but I did. You didn't do anything wrong. You were right to stop and I'm proud of you and grateful that you did, because I wasn't going to. You did everything right."

"Oh, fuck, this is the first time you've had bad sex, isn't it?" Grantaire realizes. "No wonder you're blowing this completely out of proportion." Also, pot meet kettle, but that's nowhere near the point right now. Grantaire has an excuse, Enjolras doesn't. Hell, Grantaire could even furnish a note from his doctor. Enjolras is just being annoying. "Enjolras, let me give you the birds and the bees. When two or more people get involved in sexual situations, sometimes it's not mind-blowingly amazing. I recognize this might come as a shock for you. But it happens sometimes. Because sometimes when you do experiments, you get results you didn't intend. That doesn't mean the experiment was a bad idea. Or that the sex was. It just means maybe you tweak things in the future. But not that you decide you're never going to let me suck you off under your desk or let me work over your boots while you're working on your laptop. If you tell me we're not going to do that, I'm going to cry. Watch me. I will totally cry."

Enjolras tries to smile and fails. "Well, I would never want you to cry."

Enjolras apparently has a laundry list of fantasies that all include Grantaire crying, but Grantaire's not touching that one right now. Because if he does, maybe Enjolras will never do them. And that would be a tragedy. "I mean, it's not like it's a life lesson or something. I don't know about what, my sense of self-worth or whatever the fuck. It just means that this right here, this time, today, this didn't work for me. And maybe let's not do this exact same thing without first beating this horse to death and maybe then I'll let you try really hard to make me think something here was your fault--"

"It's not your fault, either," Enjolras says.

Grantaire wags his finger at him. "Let me finish. Fine, let's remove fault entirely. It's not mea culpa, or your culpa, bad stuff just randomly came into being and happened without anyone doing anything to cause it. Put it down to demons. Not to slander demons, I'm sure they're very nice people when they're not being placed in a metaphorical scenario that requires them to be the bad guys. But, whatever. Demons made me freak out, but demons aren't always there. They're very sensitive demons, yeah? So if we do something similar but not exactly like this, maybe they won't show up. We could have a really awesome time doing something like this, but not exactly this, and let's not lose that without trying it first, okay? Please? I don't want to suddenly not be able to do things because you're worried about my depression-- shit, sorry, the demons."

"I got the metaphor," Enjolras assures him.

"Just, whatever," Grantaire rubs his fingers together and takes a hasty sip of apple juice. "Please don't decide I'm breakable now. I couldn't take it, if you do. I don't need you to take a stamp and mark 'fragile' onto my forehead and decide that you have to overcorrect. Please don't overcorrect. Please don't make this anything it's not, please?"

Enjolras grabs his hand. "I'm not," he says. "Hey, look at me? I won't do anything you don't want me to do. If there's something you want removed from the list, tell me. And you're telling me, remove _this_ , but only exactly this. I'm listening, Grantaire. I promise, I'm listening."

"Oh, good," Grantaire says. He squeezes Enjolras's fingers. "Because I want you to make choices for me, I do, I promise, but not this one."

"I make choices for you in bed, not out of it, and certainly not about it," Enjolras says. "And you can always set boundaries on what choices I can make for you. Always. Because when this stops being fun for you, this stops being something I want to do."

"I don't think we need more boundaries," Grantaire says. "We just need-- I don't know, I don't think we need anything. I mean, the system worked, right? We tried something, I didn't like it, we stopped, and now we're deciding how that influences what we do in the future." Grantaire likes the sound of that. It makes it seem like this is normal and not just one more in the series of Grantaire not being able to do something for Enjolras and disappointing him. Because, fuck it, how hard was this, really? It was goddamn fingering him. And Grantaire couldn't even manage that. Enjolras has promised he'll fist him if Grantaire keeps to his anal plug regimen, and Grantaire can't even manage to put two fingers inside Enjolras without panicking. This is goddamn horrible.

Shit, fuck. This is not helpful. This is not helpful at all.

"What I mean is," Grantaire says, reaching desperately for what he means. "No punishing me for being depressed, okay?"

"I would never," Enjolras promises.

"If you change your plans because of this, you kinda are," Grantaire says.

"Hey," Enjolras says, tipping Grantaire's chin to look at him. "I'm not. I'm just going to be a little more cautious. I want to make sure I spot something going wrong before it escalates. A safeword is a safety net, but falling into it is never the plan. I want to catch things before they go wrong, when we can still save the scene. And it's my fault that I wasn't paying enough attention. It's not yours for hitting the net."

"You're not infallible, Enjolras," Grantaire says, because it needs to be said.

Enjolras nods solemnly. "No, I'm not. But I should still learn from my mistakes."

You didn't make any mistakes, Grantaire wants to yell at him. But he's been saying that and Enjolras hasn't been listening. There's no point in keeping digging. Enjolras will just keep looking at him like he's fragile and Grantaire has no interest in that. Are they even having the same conversation here? "I think we're having a failure to communicate," Grantaire says desperately. "Which, well done, first time in your life, probably. I should feel proud, I guess? I baffled the great god Enjolras--"

Enjolras grabs him and kisses him firmly.

Okay, Grantaire officially has no idea what's going on, but he'll roll with it. He's happy to roll with it. He's overjoyed to roll with it. He puts his arms around Enjolras's shoulders, holding on tight.

"There," Enjolras says fiercely. "Do you get it? I love you, and watching you run away fucking _killed_ me, I never want that to happen again. I will move heaven and earth to never put that look on your face again. You are not the only one here wracked with guilt. Now eat your cookies."

Grantaire obediently eats his cookies.

"Better," Enjolras says. He pours Grantaire more juice. "It's good for you."

"I still think I'm right and you're wrong," Grantaire says.

"I don't care," Enjolras says and stares at Grantaire until Grantaire has drained his cup and eaten all of the cookies Enjolras keeps putting in front of him. Grantaire imagines this is what happens when you date someone who gets relationship advice from Courfeyrac: you get kissed and made to eat sweets. Well, to be fair to Courfeyrac, he probably said something like 'give him chocolate and pretend you're a nice person'. Enjolras is the one who put his own very special Enjolras-spin on things.

"There, that's better," Enjolras says. "How are you feeling?"

"Full," Grantaire says. "Um, thanks for the cookies?"

Enjolras nods. "You're welcome." He leans in and licks crumbs and chocolate off of Grantaire's lips. "Are you good with coming to the meeting? I can't miss it, but if you want to--"

"I'm going," Grantaire interrupts him, because if Enjolras tries to wrap him in bubble wrap, Grantaire will not react well. Bubble wrap is meant to be popped. "Wouldn't miss it for all the cookies and kinky sex in the world."

"Good," Enjolras proclaims.

"We've still got a couple hours, though," Grantaire says. "Could I time in and go back to fingering you? It's important to get back on the sex horse after being thrown off of it." And no more blowing this out of proportion. The only thing that should be getting blown is Enjolras's cock.

"Sorry, honey, I have a headache," Enjolras says blandly. At Grantaire's look, he smiles slightly. "No, sorry, that ship has sailed for today. That's not punishment, that's just me telling you flat out that we're not having sex right now. We can have sex tomorrow."

"And I'll try to finger you again," Grantaire says decisively.

Enjolras tenses. "Let's, ah, put that on hold for a little while, okay?"

"Oh, fuck, I ruined fingering for you," Grantaire realizes. "Shit shit shit, I ruined fingering. No, Enjolras, no, fingering is awesome, pretend this never happened. Fingering rocks. I should totally be allowed to finger you more. Fingering should happen."

Enjolras kisses him gently on his cheek and Grantaire exhales. "You didn't ruin it. I just need a little time. But I will let you do it again, I promise."

"I will hold you to that," Grantaire tells him, because, fuck, maybe he really did ruin fingering. "I need proof that I haven't scarred you for life. Because I could do that. So we need to make sure I didn't."

"You haven't scarred me, I promise." Enjolras strokes Grantaire's cheek. Grantaire leans into the touch. Really, he thinks with a complaint, all he really wants to do is to sit on Enjolras's lap and be fucked and cuddled and maybe have Enjolras wrap his hand around his cock and jerk him off. Is that too much to ask? Probably, since he's not asking for it. Because Enjolras said no more sex today. And Grantaire respects that. Really. He does. Okay, he'll convince himself he does. "I just need a little breather, okay? Humor me on this."

"Yeah, okay," Grantaire says magnanimously.

"Thank you," Enjolras says.

"Just, for my records," Grantaire continues, "what were you trying to get out of that scene?" Before I fucked things up before you could get it, because I'm the worst boyfriend ever, Grantaire does not add. See, he's learning.

Enjolras looks cutely confused, like it's slipped his mind. "I wanted you to pamper me," he says. "You like sexual service, that's been clear. And you love fingering, so I thought we could combine them. We had a few hours, and I figured that could fill as much time as we wanted. You could finger me at your own pace, take your time, and have some fun, and I could relax and enjoy it. Grantaire, you don't have to look at me like that. I know the problem wasn't with the theory, it was with the execution."

"Damn right," Grantaire says. "Because if you'd just said that, I would have been all over it. I would love to pamper you until you are basically putty. I give great massages, did I ever tell you? I could massage you and finger you and get you off. I can provide excellent stress relief."

"I _am_ sorry," Enjolras repeats.

But Grantaire's just getting angry. "I'm fine with you changing things on me, honestly, I am. But this is you, Enjolras. You cannot jerk yourself off without first giving me a five minute speech telling me how hard my slutty red mouth makes you. The fuck ever just happened?"

"I don't know!" Enjolras shouts. "I don't fucking know, Grantaire, I don't fucking know. I was in a mood, it seemed a _great_ idea at the time. I didn't plan. You want to know what happened? Well, it was that. I didn't fucking plan. I winged it and it blew up. I tried to be spontaneous. It was a bad idea. And I'm really fucking sorry, I will never fucking do that again--"

"Oh, don't you dare," Grantaire says. "Don't you dare take _that_ as a lesson from this. Don't decide this means you can't ever lose control yourself."

"I hurt you," Enjolras starts, but Grantaire puts his hand up.

"One," he ticks off on his fingers, "you did not. Two, even if you did, I don't fucking care. You are not marble, you're fucking human, Enjolras. Humans fuck up. If you hold yourself to impossible standards, then that's a problem and you need to stop. Right here, right now. Because I'm having sex with a human. And so are you! And that contains risks and, yes, it means things won't always be perfect, and, three, you can't always promise they will, because, four, you cannot predict the future. You could plan the best scene ever but I could still trip and find myself freaking out and, you know what? That would still not be your fault. Or you could find that you, yes, you, not me, you don't like something as much as you thought you would. Life happens, Enjolras. You don't need contingency plans for sex."

"This isn't regular sex!" Enjolras objects. "Your submission is a _gift_ and I am not going to--"

"I am going to delete your bookmarks and your browsing history and all of your saved websites," Grantaire threatens, "and throw out any books you bought, and then write to the authors in apology because my boyfriend is using them to justify such bullshit. Enjolras, fucking hell, look at me. You can mess up with me. It's okay. Nothing will go boom if you mess up with me. Believe me, I know what kind of standards you hold yourself to, I know the kind of pressure you court, and fucking thrive under, don't pretend you don't, but this isn't that. No one is going to starve because you used a leather paddle on my ass instead of a leather strap."

"Which one would you like better?" Enjolras asks, because trust him to miss the point.

"Both," Grantaire tells him. "I like both. And I like your hand. And lots of other things. Your hairbrush, while cliche, would also be welcome. Because this is easy. You can lower the bar, okay? You don't have to try to be perfect; you already are, and you can't improve on perfection, that's what perfect means. So lower the goddamn bar. You'll still be perfect even after I shut down a scene again. Because that's going to happen if we keep doing this," Grantaire does not let himself wonder if maybe Enjolras will decide not to keep doing this. Because Enjolras would never do that. Grantaire knows him too well. "You can't prevent or predict everything. Scenes will get stopped in the middle. And that's why you've been lecturing me on feeling free to do it, because it's only natural. And, let me tell you, this overreaction? Kind of undermines that. So stop fucking freaking out over this. That's my job and, honestly, Enjolras, I do it much better than you do. Leave the freaking out to me; I'm a fucking pro at it."

Enjolras looks very dubious.

"You can totally surprise me with sex," Grantaire continues. "I think we have proven that quite well, it's how we got into this mess in the first place--"

"That was not spontaneous," Enjolras interjects.

"Yes, yes, meticulous research and planning, but the thing is, it wasn't negotiated, you didn't get my input at all beforehand from me directly. And, okay, before you start screaming again, I am aware that this is different. But you did something nice for me once and it went great, fantastic, superb, definitely something to shout about from the rafters, it was excellent. And so you thought you could do it again, and that's not wrong, you can totally do it again. You can surprise me with as much sex as you want. But things can go wrong and you have to promise me, I need you to promise me, that you won't make any kind of drastic changes based on human error. You are not a sex machine, and even if you were, um, you'd still need tech support sometimes and tune-ups and that kind of thing. So it's okay. It is totally okay to fuck up sometimes. This didn't go the way you wanted; it didn't go the way I wanted, either. But it still happened."

"You're a very good boy," Enjolras says and Grantaire freezes. Enjolras stares at him. "Grantaire--"

Grantaire stands up. "I'm getting--," and he can't even think of anything, and Enjolras has his hand on his arm anyway, and Enjolras is pushing him gently back into his chair. Shit, he's too sober for Enjolras poking him in his self-esteem.

"You're a very good boy," Enjolras repeats, slowly and carefully. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand," Grantaire replies, automatic.

"Do you _believe_ me?" Enjolras asks.

"I think we've just shown that I'm not, so, no," Grantaire says. "But-- not now? Please? Not now?" And, fuck, he's begging, and he shouldn't be, because, fuck, fuck, fuck, he really doesn't want Enjolras to pity him or be careful, and now he's back to digging that hole and he has to stop. "Something else. Let's do something else."

Enjolras nods. He's still holding onto Grantaire and it's tight, like he thinks Grantaire's going to run. "Okay," he says. "What would you like to do?"

"I don't know," Grantaire says. "You choose."

Enjolras takes a moment to think and then nods again. "Cooking is constructive. Combeferre's brownie recipe is next to the flour."

They bring the brownies to the meeting.


End file.
